Burning the Butterfly
by fallenjedipadawan
Summary: As he approaches me I see the expression on his face and I know he's burning butterflies again. Clarissa observes as her brother "burns" a golden "butterfly" he captured.


**A/n: I really have other stuff I ought to be doing instead of writing this. :D Any ways enjoy and don't forget to drop a review.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story.**

**Warnings: Mild violence, mild language, character death.**

**Burning the Butterfly**

When we were young my older brother, Johnathon, had the habit of going out into our back yard and catching butterflies. In and of itself there was nothing wrong with this, but it was what he would do next that always horrified me: a matchbook would be drawn from his pocket, a single match would be lit, and once either or both of the wings were ablaze he would release the creature.

I always knew when he was going to do this, because he wore the exact same expression each and every time, a terrible mixture of glee and disgust. Whenever I saw him wearing it I would run outside and chase off as many butterflies as possible in order to protect them from him.

Now as he approaches me I see the expression on his face and I know he's burning butterflies again. Of course he doesn't actually do this to butterflies anymore, they're too small for him to bothered with, he's moved on to larger "toys", Downworlders and whoever irked my father; these I can't save by chasing them away, these I can do nothing for.

"Clarissa," His voice is patronizing as he leans over me. "Father and I caught something you must be interested in."I'm glad for any diversion I can get, even if it means having to listen my older sibling, I've been working on Romanian vocabulary for hours and am thoroughly bored. "What have you got this time?"

"I can't tell you. You'll just have to see." Jonathon seems strangely gleeful, different from his normal attitude, one that consists of glowers and bitter comments. They must have caught something good this time, maybe it's another vampire; my brother was practically cheerful last time, grinning madly as he dribbled holy water on it. I have to admit that I'm curious even though I know what's coming for the poor being for crossing paths with my family.

"He most certainly wasn't expecting it." Jonathon says as he leads me down the gloomy stairs to the cellar of the house. This is where my father keeps his prisoners, in cages marked with runes and silver bars, ensuring that nothing ever has or will escape. "He was snooping around on our land. I found him and brought him back to father." His voice betrays exactly how superior he feels about this. "Turns out he's one father has been wanting to have a chat with for a while."

I wonder what they did to cause my father to want to "talk" to them; I'll know soon enough, I can feel the chill air of the basement, always unnaturally cold as if the presence of all the horrors that have happened here still linger, and am glad I am wearing a jacket.

I see my father's white hair, shining like a beacon in the dim light ahead, thoughtfully examining the specimen in front of him. I can tell by the pale scars on his bare chest that he is a Shadowhunter, one who apparently doesn't have the same opinions as my father. His blonde hair is tangled and matted to his head at his temple with thick, drying blood, my brother must have knocked him out before bringing him to the manor and he still hasn't regained consciousness.

I must say that won't be a pleasant experience, waking up in a small cell, his hands chained to the wall behind him where he kneels, unable to lie down or stand up, and undoubtedly my brother will be no more welcoming to him than if he were welcoming a demon into our home.

If this were a book, I would have already fallen in love with his appearance and would be willing to pit myself against my family to rescue him. But this is real life and I feel nothing more than a tinge of pity for him, but if he was stupid enough to enter our property and then be caught by Jonathon he really mustn't be a great Shadowhunter. Survival of the fittest applies for them as well.

True, I won't deny that he is a strangely beautiful human, almost reminiscent of the angel whose blood created our kind. I can almost imagine feathery wings sprouting from his back. Wings that will burn just as easily as a butterfly's.

"Let's see why he was on our land." My father nods at my brother who is eagerly standing in front of the prisoner.

Jonathon firmly taps the boy's face with his pale hand, but this does nothing, the boy doesn't even move under the touch. He must decide that more force is necessary to drag this boy back to reality, Jonathon's hand cracks across his face and this time the figure offers a muffled groan. His head lolls father forward towards his chest and he moans before slowly blinking his eyes, I'm surprised at their unusual color, a gold that matches every other surface of his body. He seems to realize that he isn't waking up at home after a night of heavy drinking because he starts muttering a stream of imaginative curses.

After a few minutes of this he seems able to inspect his surroundings, from his wrists chained behind him to his position kneeling in front of my older brother. His first fully intelligible words are clearly aimed at the male in front of him. "Well you're a kinky bastard, aren't you?"

In response my brother slams his knee into the other boy's unprotected abdomen. "You'd best remember that you're in no position to be making snarky remarks."

The boy rocked back with the blow, but other than that seems unphased. "And melodramatic to boot. Auditioning for the role of world's worst movie villain? I mean your tactless decor adds to the whole ninety seventies crappy horror movie vibe you're trying to pull off."

Jonathon's dark eyes are practically black as he glowers at the boy in front of him, he hates to be mocked by anyone, he's practically murderous when it's someone whom he deems to be beneath him who is doing the mocking. A dagger is pulled from a black boot and the tip is pressed to the captive's sternum. "Keep talking like that, pretty boy; see if you'll find it quite as funny when you've got a blade buried in your chest."

This boy must have a death wish because he laughs at this statement. "Pretty boy? Are you jealous? Or was I right when I said you were a kinky bastard? Course either way you won't do that." He frowned pensively. "Unless you're a necrophiliac."

Enraged my brother slams the hilt of the blade into the side of teen's face, causing his head to snap back. Before he can respond Jonathon's long fingers are tangled into the thick golden hair, jerking his head up so that he has no option but to look at the slightly older boy. Jonathon keeps pulling until the boy can rise no farther, the chains preventing him from fully rising. "You'll only talk when I tell you to and then you'll sing like a canary. If you don't I'll make sure that you aren't such a pretty boy. Understand?"

Clearly this got the message across because the golden boy manages a small nod, the best he can do with my brother's tight grip on him. As soon as he's released he mutters. "Because my good looks are all that matter to me. I mean if you had threatened something vital that would have been a tough choice. But my appearance, now that's something I can't imagine life without."

I can't help but laugh at this, nothing my brother does seems to stop his flow of sarcastic comments and I find them amusing in a way. For the first time he looks my way and his eyes widen with surprise, probably shocked to see a girl present. Instead of remarking on this he cheerily asks. "If you're threatening to give me a horrendous haircut doesn't work, which just might it would be rather cruel, are you going to let that leprechaun kick me in the shins tell I beg for mercy?" He slowly looks me over again. "That is if she can reach."

My father has been watching the proceedings quietly from the dark corner of the room. He talks as if he were speaking to a child when he finally intervenes. "Jonathon, are you going to prove yourself capable of anything? Or maybe a leprechaun would be more effective at getting any information out of him?"

Jonathon shoots my father a dark look at the mocking statement and moves back towards the boy. "What's your name?"

"Ah, introductions." The boy smirks. "I had thought you were too uncivilized for the more civil aspects of life, like introductions. I'm he-who-must-not-be-named. I would shake your hand but…" He tilted his head over his shoulder to his bound hands. "That might be rather tricky at the moment."

My brother's fist is faster than the teen must be expecting, because he doesn't even flinch before it slams into his jaw. "What is your name?" My brother repeats, using the same icy tone our father uses when he knows one of us is lying.

"The Baron Derek Von Schnefurhorn." His voice is slightly less chipper this time but it's still much perkier than you would expect from someone who woke up as a prisoner in Valentine's estate and had then had subsequently dealt with my demonic brother's temper.

This time the blow is harder and followed by a strong forearm being pressed into his throat. With his back against the wall and my brother cutting off his airflow I can see the boy struggling to breath; Jonathon ignores this and asks in a low growl. "What is your name?"

"Jace." He chokes out, leaning his head back into the wall, trying to capture another breath of air. My father nods and Johnathon releases him, both grinning ferally as he falls forwards, the manacles the only thing holding him up, and coughs as his lungs fill with air.

"Alright, Jace, why were you on our land?"

"Treasure hunt. Do I win?"

This seems to be one more sarcastic statement than Jonathon can handle; an aggravated shout accompanies him as he slams the blade of his dagger into the boy's shoulder.

Jace stiffens in shook and pain, clenching his eyes shut when my brother pulls the weapon out. It's not a deep wound, but my brother knew where to place it so it would be painful. After several minutes of gritting his teeth as blood drips down his chest he pants, "I'll take that as a no. Damn it, there were supposed to be such nice prizes too."

Jonathon crouches down in front of the now injured boy. "Alright, Jace, keep acting like that. I'm going to go upstairs and have a nice dinner, I'll think about while I eat since you won't be eating anything until you decide to change you talk to me. Then I'll go to sleep in my soft bed, I might think about you before I go to sleep since you won't be moving from that position until you show some respect. Maybe in a few hours you'll regret trying to act big and strong, but you won't be doing anything about that until I come back down those stairs, maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after. When I do it will be the first time you see light since I walk out of this room. Tonight you can enjoy listening to your stomach rumble, feeling the ache in your body from sitting like that for so long, and imagining all the wonderful nasty things we have that creep around here in the dark." He condescendingly taps him under the chin with the hilt of the blade before rising and striding from the room. My father and I follow within a minute, leaving this butterfly in absolute darkness.

0-0-0

My brother always enjoyed toying with the butterflies, seeing how long they would struggle in his hand before he grew bored and pulled out the matches. He seems to be enjoying toying with this boy just as much.

"Jace." His silvery hair falls into his eyes as he leans against the wall, flipping a knife in his hand. "Is that a nickname of some sort? Or are your parents really daft enough to name you such an idiotic name?"

Jace is still blinking in the bright witchlight, his eyes aren't used to it after nearly two days in complete darkness. I can see dark shadows under his eyes, he probably hasn't slept since he was brought here, kept awake by the shuffling of the creatures that find their way into the basement. The time left alone in the dark with no nutrients seems to have taken away some of his cocky demeanor. "A nickname."

"Oh really? What does it stand for?" While he may be feigning interest I know my brother really doesn't care about such trivialities.

The boy knows this as well and balks at answering, instead he scowls at the other teen. "Don't know why I should tell you. I don't know your name either?"

Jonathon saunters over to the prisoner. "Well you see I currently hold the keys to your freedom and your life. That means I can ask whatever I want of you but you can't do the same with me." He runs the tip of the blade over the wound from the first time the two were together and I absently wonder if its been cleaned, if not it will be infected within days, only adding to Jace's misery. "So what does it stand for?"

"Jonathon Christopher."

My eyes fly up to meet my brothers, it seems more than unlikely that the two share a name. Maybe he knows my brother's name, heard me or my father say it and is trying to catch us off guard. "Jonathon Christopher what?" The first thing I've asked him since he's been here, I've let my brother handle the rest of the questioning.

"Wayland." He looks between us, confused as our expressions. Apparently he has no idea what has caused this disruption.

My brother speaks slowly letting each world slide off his tongue. "Well then Jonathon Christopher Wayland don't you think mommy and daddy are desperately worried about you?"

Jace squares his jaw and looks away. "Don't you think Mommy and Daddy would be displeased to find you interrogating someone for no reason? Oh wait I forgot they do it too. I can just imagine your Christmas, I bet your Mommy made you a miniature torture set to celebrate your first. The only part I can't decide on is if the victim is alive or already dead." He nods. "Alive, I think."

Jonathon is wearing our family ring today and it leaves a scrape on the boy's face when my brother backhands him. "I asked you a simple question. If you won't answer that then maybe you'll answer another one. Why were you on our property?"

A pair of golden eyes are rolled at this question. "I already told you. Treasure hunt. I'll let you in on a secret, we were treasure hunting for women with unfavorable reputations. I'm sure you attract nothing else so I'll let you be on my team next time."

"I've been kind to you, kinder than I should have been." My brother hisses. "I won't continue to keep making that mistake."

This boy has gone to far now, there's know way he's escaping with a few cuts and bruises. He flew to close to the flame and he is going to burn for it.

0-0-0

Jonathon filled an entire notebook with observations on the burning of the butterflies, how long they could flutter before their scorched wings could no longer hold them up, how to keep them alive for the entire process, where the best places to light the wings were. I'm sure he now has a new notebook filled with information of the Nephilim he was torturing, happily flirting between blades, demon poisons, and his bare hands. I attend each session and keep records of my own.

The first three days he answers each question with a sarcastic answer.

On the fourth day he is quiet except for soft moans and choked answers. When my brother leaves for the evening Jace's lip is bleeding from biting down on it.

It's on the fifth day that he screams for the first time. From here it's a quick descent into spilling whatever secrets he holds. We all know this, my brother grinning wildly about it, Jace's golden eyes distraught.

Two days later his body decides it can't handle the constant torture and a hallucination inducing fever wracks his body. At night I hear him shouting for help, screaming about being attacked by monsters that only exist in his mind.

When my father visits for the first time since the day he arrived the boy begins wailing about seeing the dead. I'm nearly as confused as Jonathon to see my father holding the boy in his arms telling him that it will be alright. Jace thrashes against the hold, oblivious to the fact that one hand clutches tightly to the man like a lifeline. The only word he says that day is father.

My brother is sleeping when I slip into check in on our prisoner. No one but me witnesses him sobbing, fever bright eyes staring past me. An endless stream of "Alec, Alec, Alec." Flows from his lips raising into broken howl and I wonder who this Alec he calls for is. It could be a friend, brother, or lover; we've learned little enough about him that I know this person's identity will remain a secret.

Exactly two weeks after he arrives he tells my brother everything he asks for, but we all know that it will do him no good. The fact that he hadn't even intended to enter our property was meaningless now, he had been searching for a lost younger, adopted brother when he had stumbled onto the land. Jonathon laughed at this, claiming that the younger brother had never even looked in the area for him had caused Jace to retreat back as far as he could, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

The butterfly's wings are good and burned now, there's nothing I can do to help him but watch him flutter to the ground, a shell of a once beautiful creature.

0-0-0

The butterflies Jonathon set on fire didn't always die right away, some managed to crawl along the ground for a few minutes, dragging the remains of their wings on the ground behind them, before they finally died. He would scream and hit me if I stepped on them at this point, I felt horrible for them and was simply trying to stop their misery; he saw it as me trying to ruin his games.

I know he would react a similar way if I did anything to try and hurry along the passing of the prisoner. So instead I sat outside the boy's cell watching him intently, one hand through the bar and stroking his filthy hair, trying to let him know that he wasn't surrounded by total brutality as he died.

When my brother had slid a silver blade between the golden boy's ribs he grinned smugly, glad to be freeing himself of the irritation. He ran a harsh hand through the boy's hair in a mockery of a comforting gesture as he explained exactly how long it would take to die of such a wound.

Unlike my father and brother I have never taken any pleasure in the death of another being, but secretly I am glad when Jace's harsh breathing and quiet whimpers fade into silence. I'm glad he's out of my family's reach, glad he's no longer suffering, glad that he'll never face anything like this again.

0-0-0

I don't know what my father and brother do with his body, whether they send it to his family or dispose of it in the woods, and I don't want to know. Before they took him I managed to riffle through a wallet my brother had taken from when he first came here and I pulled out a worn photo held in the back. Jace looks happier than I ever saw him, his arm slung around a black haired blue eyed boy, maybe the Alec he called for? On the back of this photo I draw a small butterfly before creeping out into the backyard.

The fire I build is small; I don't want to draw unwanted attention. If I had know the boy I might tell the fire what a kind and sweet person he was, but I don't know him so I keep quiet. This is the closest to a funeral he'll receive here and while his family might hold one for him, they won't know all he went through in the time he was a prisoner and I feel like I should honor him in a way. I drop the photo into the fire and watch as the flames devour it. The butterfly on the back stands out dark for a single before burning.

This butterfly is unlike any my brother ever burned, it's burnt with pity and respect instead of hatred and sadism. The last fragment of the photo vanishes into the whirling smoke that makes my eyes water.

But as I look up, watching the path of the smoke I swear I see a single golden butterfly burst from the flames, its beautiful wings silent as it flies towards the moon and freedom.

**a/n: I killed Jace! I'm a terrible person, I know, but it had to be done to make the story work. Anyways reviews are incredible and inspire me to write happier stuff.**


End file.
